


A Bit More Basil

by grantaire_the_cynic



Series: Life at the Barricade [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Feuilly may or may not have a fling going on, Fluff, M/M, background Courf and Jehan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-28
Updated: 2013-12-28
Packaged: 2018-01-06 10:46:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1105885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grantaire_the_cynic/pseuds/grantaire_the_cynic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is into cooking, Enjolras is indifferent to food. Grantaire ensures that Enjolras eats. And slowly turns him into a foody.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bit More Basil

One thing Grantaire had learned, after 7 months of dating Enjolras, was that he didn’t really understand food. His diet, when Grantaire didn’t intervene, was mostly microwave meals and peanut butter sandwiches. At first, Grantaire let Enjolras keep on his (horrible) diet, but after a couple months, he decided it was time to shake things up.

"Enj, I’m cooking dinner for us today." Grantaire said, pulling the take out menu from Enjolras’ hands. "We go out all the time."

Enjolras nodded. “Alright. What can I do?”

"You don’t have to do anything. My treat. Just sit back and work on whatever you were working on and I’ll let you know when it’s ready."

Grantaire walked into the kitchen and started pulling out food and humming as he started making breading and defrosting the chicken. He pulled out a couple bowls, mixing an egg and milk in one, and pouring the breading in another. He hummed to himself as he started chopping vegetables for salad, dropping them into the salad bowl and adding lettuce and spinach. He pulled the chicken from the sink and contemplated the spice rack for a moment, before pulling out what he wanted. He added seasonings to the breading and the egg/milk mixture. Grantaire started frying the chicken and set the salad and dishes on the table.

Enjolras wandered in as Grantaire was taking the chicken out of the skillet. Grantaire did not see him at first, mashing potatoes and adding bacon bits, butter, and cheese while the oil drained from the chicken.

“That smells delicious!” Enjolras said, slipping his arms around Grantaire’s waist. “Good thing our roommates aren’t home- or they’d steal our food.” he kissed Grantaire’s neck.

“That’s why I only made enough for us. Can you take the bread out of the oven? I’ll get the rest of this served up.” He pulled the chicken from the paper towel it was draining on and put in the table, grabbing butter and lemonade from the refrigerator. Enjolras grabbed a pot holder and pulled the tray from the oven. He promptly dropped it on the counter, jumping back and yelping in surprise.

“Shit!” he yelled, sticking his hand under the faucet. Grantaire grabbed it before Enjolras got it under the water.

“Lukewarm water, cold water will make it blister. I thought you had a potholder?”

“I did- but I didn’t hold it right I guess.” he winced when the water hit his fingers. Grantaire went into the bathroom and found some burn cream and band-aids.

“Let me see.” he said, coaxing Enjolras’ fingers from the faucet.

“R, I can do this myself.” Enjolras said, looking irritated. “I’m not an invalid.”

“I know, but I want to do it.” Grantaire said, gently rubbing burn cream onto Enjolras’ fingers and bandaging them up. He kissed each one lightly.

Enjolras rolled his eyes, but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Can we eat now? I’m hungry.”

“I am agog! I am aghast! Is Enjolras hungry at last?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and sat down at the table. “I usually get hungry- I just don’t care about food.”

Cooking became a regular occurrence at the Barricade. It had been weeks since Enjolras had made a microwave meal or had cereal for a non-breakfast meal. Their roommates noticed, often scheduling their days to eat with Grantaire and Enjolras.

“This is so much better than instant noodles and rice.” Courfeyrac said, feeding Jehan a bite of chicken Alfredo. Jehan nodded in agreement.

“Well, I’m here all week. All year, etcetera. Just make sure you help me keep the fridge stocked.” Grantaire scooped more food onto Enjolras’ plate. “Don’t look at me like that, Enjolras, I know you skipped breakfast and lunch today. Eat up.” Enjolras sighed, but eagerly picked up his fork.

“Where did you learn to cook?” Enjolras asked Grantaire later that evening.

“It’s something I picked up growing up. My parents weren’t really home in the evenings, so I had to feed my sister and me.”

“Where were they?” Enjolras curled around Grantaire, pulling the blankets over them.

“My mom worked at night, most of the time. And my dad was out getting drunk.”

“I’m sorry.” Enjolras kissed his cheek, hugging him.

“It’s not your fault. And it wasn’t so bad- when he was out getting drunk he wasn’t at home breaking things or yelling.”

Enjolras rubbed Grantaire’s back. “I’m still sorry.”

Grantaire rolled over and looked at Enjolras. “Don’t worry about it. He’s long gone. And my mom loves you. So does my sister. That’s what’s important.”

Enjolras grinned. “Well, your mom is awesome. And she’s now best friends with my mom.”

Grantaire laughed. “That’s good to hear.” he ran his fingers through Enjolras’ hair. Enjolras closed his eyes, humming lowly. Grantaire smirked and ducked under the covers. Enjolras gasped and slid a hand under the blanket, into Grantaire’s hair.

Grantaire was at the stove, cooking dinner, when Enjolras walked in. “Cooking again?”

“You need to eat.”

“Grantaire, I appreciate your love of cooking for me, but I’m a grown man, I can feed myself.”

“Right. I know for a fact that you forgot your breakfast this morning- you were animatedly talking to Combeferre- who was upstairs- on your phone.”

“Okay, but I ate later.”

Grantaire eyed him. “Really?”

“I had a granola bar! And I met Courf for lunch!”

Grantaire laughed. “Well, that’s an improvement!” Enjolras flipped Grantaire off and went upstairs to put his stuff away. When he came back, Grantaire was setting two plates on the table.

“Food’s ready!” he grinned and pulled out a chair for Enjolras.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Fried chicken, homemade French fries, and fruit salad. And a bottle of wine Jehan said ‘help yourself’ to- pink Moscato.”

Enjolras sat down, pouring wine for the two of them. “I appreciate the effort you’re putting into all of this, R, but it’s really not necessary. I can feed myself. And we already go out on Fridays, so really, one or two nights is really all you should do. I can feed myself.”

Grantaire laughed and shook his head. “You’re hopeless. Just enjoy your meal.”

Enjolras shook his head, but dug in anyway. His face lit up. “This is delicious! And here I was just expecting regular chicken.” Enjolras blushed slightly, at his admission. Grantaire laughed softly. “Well, I don’t make ordinary food. You know that.” He was still grinning as he took a second helping.

Enjolras came home much later than he had intended. His lecture had run long thanks to a fire alarm and a lock down. He tossed his keys on the table and deposited his books upstairs. Enjolras leaned against the door of his and Grantaire’s bedroom, trying to let go of his stress. He changed into an old t-shirt and a pair of Grantaire’s sweat pants.

Downstairs, Grantaire had not heard him come in. He was in the kitchen cooking. Enjolras quietly watched him, not wanting to disturb. Grantaire moved easily, humming to himself. He did not even appear to think as he pulled food from the cabinets. He had a skillet of vegetables cooking and some kind of meat in another pan. Grantaire regarded the spices he had pulled, fingers hovering over a couple jars before he selected one and started sprinkling it over the meat. He grabbed two more of the small jars and shook them liberally over the vegetables and the remaining two he added to the pot of sauce. Enjolras was mesmerized, captivated by the ease Grantaire had in the kitchen- how relaxed he looked. Grantaire was focused on his task, unaware of the loud thumping and occasional whining coming from Feuilly’s room.

Grantaire was scooping the vegetables and meat onto two plates and arranging everything when Enjolras decided to stop watching and see if he could help. He walked up behind Grantaire and slipped his arms around his waist. Grantaire jumped and turned. He smiled and kissed Enjolras lightly.

“Hi there.” He said, turning back to the counter. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough to see you pretty much cook the whole meal. I was going to offer to help, but you looked so relaxed, so at ease, I couldn’t interrupt. What can I do? Silverware? Cups and drinks?”

“You can get yourself something to drink and go wait at the table.”

Enjolras nodded. “What do you want?” he asked, grabbing a bottle of water.

“Beer. Please.”

Enjolras set Grantaire’s beer on the table and waited, watching him carry their plates in.

“Alright, this is a new recipe, so be honest.” Grantaire said, setting the plate down.

“But you weren’t using one?” Enjolras looked at him, impressed.

“Well, I read it, and decided to do it my way because the recipe sounded too bland. But be honest, because it might be too much.”

Enjolras shook his head. “I doubt it. You’re good at this.”

Grantaire blushed and watched Enjolras, waiting for him to try his food. Enjolras took a bite and his face lit up. “This is great!” he leaned across the table and kissed Grantaire.

Grantaire grinned. “Thanks, babe.” He started working on his own plate. “I should have used more salt, I think.”

“No, it’s fine.” Enjolras said.

The semester was coming to a swift end, bringing more snow than anyone cared to deal with. They tried to shovel, but Courfeyrac’s constant snowball fights, Jehan messing around with his camera, and Bossuet tripping over the shovels prompted them to give up and wait for it to melt.

“I move we go out tonight. We have almost nothing to cook with and I don’t feel like it.” Grantaire said, flopping onto the couch and laying on Enjolras’ lap.

“I agree. What are you hungry for? Pasta? Burgers? All you can eat?” Enjolras carded his fingers through the other man’s hair.

“Pasta. Definitely. There’s that new Italian place close by- we wouldn’t have to drive.”

Enjolras nodded and stood up, causing Grantaire to tumble to the floor. He pretended to pout until Enjolras helped him up.

Outside they laced their gloved fingers together and set off towards the restaurant. It had quickly become a popular hangout place for University students. Grantaire talked about his classes and the immersion class he wanted to take.

“A month in Paris, what could be better?” he asked, enthusiastically.

Enjolras did not answer right away. “I’d miss you.” He said softly.

Grantaire stopped and turned to face Enjolras. “You could come with. They have a poli sci class, a French history class, and that weird pre law class you keep talking about. It’s in June so it wouldn’t interfere with anything.”

Enjolras considered this. He grinned. “Are you asking me on a month long date to Paris?”

Grantaire laughed. “It’s a possibly. Definitely. Course you’d have to take a class, but I think that’s a fair trade.”

“I’ll think about it.” Enjolras said, walking again. He opened the door for Grantaire.

Half an hour later, they had their food. Grantaire raised his wine glass. “To Paris.” He said. “Because you’re going whether you like it or not.”

Enjolras laughed, but toasted anyway. “I want to go. But I don’t want to make any promises.” He looked at his plate and started eating, having skipped lunch during their feeble attempt at shoveling. He made a face.

“What’s wrong?” Grantaire asked.

“Canned sauce- they didn’t even bother adding anything. No garlic, no oregano, nothing. And there's too much salt. Needs more basil too.”

Grantaire tasted his and laughed. “Well, you’re right, but I didn’t think you cared that much.”

Enjolras blushed. “Well, I mean… I guess, I guess I just got used to your cooking. Remind me to fill out one of those comment cards before we leave.”

Grantaire laughed to himself, shaking his head. “Next step, teaching you to cook.” he couldn't stop grinning the rest of the meal.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prompt from Tumblr:
> 
>  
> 
> etre-libre-dit-combeferre:
> 
> Headcanon that Enjolras has never really been that interested in food. Like, at all. He wishes it was optional, and couldn’t tell you the difference between a carrot and a pineapple, tbqh. He’s so bad at remembering to buy groceries, or just feed himself at all, really, that for months Combeferre and Courfeyrac actually took to sneaking into his flat to fill up his fridge for him
> 
> And then when he and Grantaire get together, R insists upon cooking for him at least once a week. And Enjolras really doesn’t like the idea at first (“R, look, I appreciate the thought, but I’m a grown man! I can feed myself!” … "Hmm, convincingly put, but I think we both know that’s bullshit, my love…") 
> 
> Except that Grantaire is such a fucking phenomenal cook that before long Enjolras actually really starts enjoying it, especially as he loves how passionate his boyfriend gets when he talks about food, telling him about recipes he loves and where he found them (because Grantaire’s been everywhere, basically)
> 
> And then one day they’re out on a date at a restaurant, and Enjolras kinda makes a face when he tries his soup. Grantaire asks him what’s up, and he’s like “I dunno, I just think there’s a bit too much basil in this, and not enough salt”
> 
> And Grantaire can’t stop grinning


End file.
